


Just A Little Bit More, Babe

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Consent Issues, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Addict Rhys, Drug Dealer Handsome Jack, Drug Use, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Non-Con Situations, M/M, Needles, No Smut, One-Sided Relationship, Semi-Graphic Descriptions, Unrequited Love, Violent Thoughts, Withdrawal, and of dark thoughts, everyone is terrible, mentioned overdose, of addiction and its effects on human body, what a wholesome dynamic right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Jack is a drug dealer and a single father trying to get his life back under control. Rhys is his boyfriend. Sort of. He is a drug addict only interested in Jack because he gets some free drugs from him.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Just A Little Bit More, Babe

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags! This is a sad, dark and angsty work. Hurt No Comfort :)

Not for the first time that day— heck, not for the first time that _hour_ , Jack asked himself what was he doing with his life. He was getting better. The house was clean, the fridge was stocked, he had a job – _stupid_ , terrible office job that was driving him crazy, with his _stupid-ass_ boss, but a job, nevertheless – and he was in the process of getting custody of Angel back. He didn’t stop drinking, or dealing drugs, but the CPS didn’t know about that. It was not even that obvious.

But Rhys was. Sprawled half-naked in his bed, Rhys was very obvious and definitely not the right company for a single father. Jack should have kicked him out on the curb the first time he was late with the money. Instead, he listened to Rhys’ proposition. He agreed. And the problem wasn’t that Jack was feeling bad for taking advantage of Rhys’ addiction, for using him when he was at his lowest. Frankly, he didn’t care about the morals. But he wasn’t cold enough to ignore that _Rhys_ was using _him_.

Rhys was a terrible person, just like him. He was a _Slut™_ , willing to fuck _anyone_ for money or drugs. He kept stealing from his family until they kicked him out and cut him off, and then he did the same with every single one of his friends. Jack supposed it was partially the family’s fault, that they never cared about him until he became a _disgrace_. But that didn’t matter; Rhys did this to himself. Not his family, not his friends, not the guy who offered him drugs for the first time, and not Jack, who’s been his dealer for the past six months, and who was basically in a relationship with this terrible person.

Unfortunately, what Jack saw when he looked at the man begging at his feet that day wasn’t a junkie who ran out of money and was desperate. He saw his first crush, needing his help and willing to give him – a man who just had his own daughter taken away from him – a chance. As he fucked Rhys raw that day, he tried to tell himself that it was just a crush, and that he would easily burn it out of his system, and then he would cut Rhys off. But he didn’t.

When Jack looked at Rhys now, many months later, he still saw more than a pathetic drug addict. He saw the kindest person he had ever met, and his only friend during childhood. He saw a red tabby kitten in the hands of a smiling kid who probably ran from home again only to meet Jack and condole him after his grandma killed his cat. He never learned where Rhys got the kitten, but _Mr Cinnamon Roll_ was the fourth member of their gang for a year, until he disappeared from the hut where they hid him and never returned.

As the sixth kid out of seven in a rich family, Rhys hated his life. He used to run and hang out with Jack and Tim, two kids from the poorest neighbourhood. Other kids were forbidden to play with the twins, but Rhys’ parents didn’t care. They were a bad influence on him, but not _that bad_. Then Rhys went to college, and when he returned, even Jack didn’t recognise him.

It would be so easy to throw him out now. Jack could just put him in the back of his car and drive him away, leave him somewhere in a park on the other side of the city, maybe call an ambulance. Rhys wouldn’t resist, wouldn’t even realise. To prove that, Jack placed a hand on Rhys’ throat, squeezed. Rhys continued to stare into the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, humming noncommittally. After a while, his legs parted, a silent invitation.

A mirthless chuckle left Jack’s lips as he added his second hand, both of his large paws wrapping around the boy’s throat like a deadly snake around its tiny, powerless prey. He waited patiently to see Rhys’ reaction, maybe a hint of fear in his eyes, but all he got was the sight of Rhys’ cock swelling in his underwear. This was a foreplay to him. Jack could literally kill him when he was defenceless, and he wasn’t even scared.

The hands pressed down, tightened dangerously, fuelled by deep-rooted anger and frustration. The situation _wasn’t fair_ , and Jack wanted nothing more than for it to be _over_. He could end it all now so easily. Rhys started gasping for breath, but Jack didn’t let up. Everybody would believe that it was overdose, and Rhys’ family wouldn’t care about the results of the autopsy. They would probably bribe the judge to make sure no autopsy happened in the first place. No traces left after their disappointment; no traces left after Jack’s broken heart.

When his hands loosened, it was the first time Rhys gave a reaction. He shot up into a sitting position, gulped down air almost like he realised that he got so close to dying. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes wide and pupils so dilated it was hard to tell what colour his eyes were. Then he fell on the bed again, gradually calming down, raging boner creating a wet patch on his boxers.

With a long sigh, Jack ran a hand over his face. He could ask himself what the fuck did he just do, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer. He totally didn’t just try to kill Rhys, and he totally didn’t fail because of his goddamn feelings. That was too much to unpack. He was a drug dealer, and he stole and took advantage of people, but he wasn’t a murderer.

Focusing on something else, Jack put his hand on Rhys’ thigh, kneading. He got a soft sigh out of him, so he moved his hand higher, fingers curling around the thin leg. He could fuck Rhys like this with no effort. He could take him without prep, fuck him without lube or with four fingers plunged into his ass alongside his dick, and _Rhys would ask for more_. There would be no talking back, no bossiness. Rhys was too fried to care who and how was fucking him— hell, Jack could rent him out, and the boy wouldn’t give a damn. Who knows where he got money this time, anyway?

Jack refused to give him the drug unless he brought money, so Rhys returned with a few bills, and Jack, disgusted with himself, caved. He was also offered _the best blowjob of your life_ for that _boyfriend discount_ , but he refused to put his dick anywhere near Rhys until he took a shower. He _locked him in the bathroom_. What would the CPS think if they learned that he locked his _boyfriend_ in the bathroom until he took a shower and brushed his teeth? But Rhys was drenched in cold sweat when he arrived at his door, withdrawal entering the dangerous grounds. He was truly _disgusting_ at that moment.

And he still was, even after the shower, but Jack’s bars were low. He let his fingertips brush up against Rhys’ balls through the thin cloth of his underwear, smirking bitterly when the younger man spread his legs further to grant him easier access. _Slut_. For anyone, anytime. But _his_ now, only his. Maybe that would make him feel better. To take Rhys roughly, burn all the guilt out.

Finally, Jack pushed his hand into Rhys’ underwear, fingers seeking his asshole. A dangerous thought entered his mind, dread filling him briefly. He wasn’t sure how he would react if he found cum in Rhys’ ass. He would most probably actually kill him. But that wasn’t the case. Rhys’ hole was tight as ever, definitely not fucked in the past couple hours, maybe not even since the last time he fucked him, three days ago. But that didn’t mean Rhys didn’t suck some creeps off behind the _Up Over Bar_.

Face scrunching up in distaste, Jack pulled his hand away from Rhys’ crotch. The boy didn’t even bother making a sound of disapproval, simply adjusting his position on the bed and staring at the ceiling again, as if it held the meaning of life.

Even though he knew he would hate it, Jack looked down. In his underwear only, Rhys looked horrible. His veins were visible all over his body, skin pale, white and yellow. He was bony, as not even Jack managed to get enough food in him. The veins on his right arm looked infected, and Jack wondered what would kill Rhys sooner – overdose, dangerous sex, no sense of self-preservation, or the infection. An intervention from God to stop the madness once and for all.

The track marks were everywhere. Rhys injected multiple times a day when he had the drug and spent the rest of the time trying to get more. He had trouble finding a vein today, and Jack refused to give him more than one dose for his money. He looked away when the freshly-showered man finally got himself his fix. Couldn’t watch him ruining that beautiful body even more.

An idea possessed Jack like a greater force, and he leaned down until his nose was touching Rhys’ belly. The skin was already getting clammy, body no longer able to regulate temperature normally. He placed a gentle peck there, then moved a little higher and kissed another spot. Even under the smell of Jack’s body wash, Rhys stunk, but the dealer couldn’t bring himself to care. The more he kissed him, the more he worshipped Rhys’ body, the more a pleasant image seeped into his mind.

A young boy with a head full of curly hair, grinning at him, freckles from the sun dusting his nose and cheeks. A wreath of flowers that he presented to Jack as a gift, that Jack didn’t appreciate back then. A smile on a teary face as they shared a chocolate bar later. A whispered confession. A promise made before leaving for a boarding school. The last love letter that Jack received. His Rhysie.

Before he knew it, tears were falling form Jack eyes, leaving a different kind of a wet trail on the body beneath him. He ignored them, didn’t stop, hoping that if he showed Rhys how much he loved his body, how much he loved _him_ , Rhys would stop taking. A miracle would happen. Love solved everything.

If only Rhys at least loved him back. Saw Jack as something more than a source of his liquid happiness. But he didn’t. He tilted his head to the side when Jack finally got to his lips, escaped the kiss and whined, brows furrowed.

“I can feel myself already crashing,” he mumbled, his voice so slurred that Jack had trouble understanding. “Please, da-daddy… Can I get more? _Please_ …”

Jack thought about it, contemplating the man. He pulled Rhys’ eyelids apart, looking at the state of his pupils, then took his temperature with the back of his hand, busied himself with a couple more mindless gestures until he made the decision. He just didn’t want Rhys to leave and find a different source.

“Just a little bit, babe,” he allowed, getting up to retrieve it. He kept the goods hidden well. Rhys had tried to find them many times, searching through the house, sometimes breaking things in his haste, but he never got to them.

He returned with the smallest dose and his personal kit, that he really only owned because of Rhys, because Jack never tried the drugs that he sold. Thankfully, Rhys didn’t look disappointed when he saw the small amount of the purple liquid. He reached for the syringe with uncontained hunger in his eyes, and Jack worried that he would actually attempt to eat it or do something equally stupid.

“Let me,” he ordered quietly, slapping the boy’s hands away. Rhys laid back obediently, watching him as he sat down next to him and tied a rubber band around his left bicep. He didn’t really need to do that, Rhys’ veins protruding and used to rough treatment, but he would like to preserve at least one of them in case he managed to get Rhys to hospital one day and they wanted to put an IV needle in him.

A relatively nice vein was located and cleaned, and then Jack was slowly pushing the needle in. He looked into Rhys’ eyes when he released the drug into his bloodstream, keeping the eye contact until the syringe was removed, as well as the rubber band. Bliss filled Rhys’ face, but only for a second.

“You don’t even feel it anymore,” Jack stated, shivering as his disgust over himself hit him again. “Your tolerance is too high to feel anything, so why did you— _Why are you looking at me like that?!_ ” he screamed suddenly, blinking when the younger man didn’t even flinch.

A dopey smile spread on Rhys’ face, asymmetrical as a part of his face seemed to go a little numb. “I like it when you do it, daddy,” he said, giggling. “Love you, daddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [my NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting) and [Tumblr](https://lostelfwriting.tumblr.com/).


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